Fear

by Nina Manning

  All I could think of was, why now? Why would someone wish to remind me of what happened all those years ago? My past was with me daily like an unwelcome travel companion. I was used to reliving the mistakes and feeling the regret; what was alarming was that someone now wanted me to know they were also thinking about it.

  I tucked the car into a nook in the kitchen, ordered a new plant pot online and tried to push the nagging thoughts away. I found the enthusiasm to suggest a date night with Damian as a distraction. I texted him later that afternoon, proposing a meal out; my treat to celebrate the new job. I ended the text with a small lowercase x.

  His response was brief.

  Sure. You called the babysitter?

  No kiss.

  I called the girl who lived four doors down, Aimee. She was only sixteen, studying for her exams, but she had a certificate in first aid and religiously checked on the children every thirty minutes, even though we left the monitor on for Maddox. It was a total blessing she was so close and always available. And she seemed to relish the time away from her home.

  Aimee answered in a breathless manner as though she had run to pick up.

  ‘Hi Aimee, it’s Frankie,’ I said in my happiest singsong voice.

  ‘Hi Frankie. What time do you need me?’ Aimee said in a mocking tone that didn’t seem quite right for her tender years.

  ‘And how do you know I wasn’t just ringing to say hi?’ I mocked back.

  Aimee let out a small giggle.

  ‘Okay, you got me. Damian and I are going to go out for a bite to eat tonight, could you sit from seven?’

  ‘Yes, that’s fine. I have no plans.’

  I felt a wrench of despair for Aimee, who by now should have a busy social life; God knows I was up to all sorts at her age.

  My best friend Nancy was always offering to babysit. She now lived on the outskirts of town, in a huge detached house, with Harry, a divorcee with three boys. Nancy never had any children of her own. I always thought she would end up marrying Minty but he took off to France and still lives there running a snowboarding school.

  But Damian never seemed to show much enthusiasm when I spoke of her. I found myself turning down her childcare offers because of this. To be honest, with Nancy you were never quite sure what might happen. It was like watching a clunky TV personality present live TV – there was always a sense that something awkward and embarrassing might happen. It usually did.

  ‘No decorum,’ I heard Damian mutter once when she catapulted herself into a slow moving taxi head first through the window on a rare night out together, whilst I stood on the pavement doubled over with laughter.

  By the next day Nancy was a different woman, all: ‘Oh my God, I didn’t do that, surely?’ Nancy was an extrovert who sucked the life out of introverts like Damian.

  Damian finally arrived home just after 6 p.m.. I was grappling with thoughts of the toy Mini Cooper car that had appeared on the doorstep and whether I should mention it to him.

  ‘Good afternoon?’ I asked, not able to keep the sarcasm from seeping through.

  ‘Yep. I went to that café on the high street, the juice place.’

  I knew which one he meant. It was all organic fresh ingredients. Expensive. I knew I would check our joint account later to see exactly how much he had spent and then spend time weighing up his role against his frivolous spending of our surplus income.

  ‘Did you get much work done?’ I asked with a vagueness to my tone.

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, I guess,’ he said distractedly as he looked in the fridge. I could see that faraway distant look in his eyes was back, the one that suggested he hadn’t been thinking about work. I decided now was not the time to bother him about a silly toy car.

  Damian had an idea for an app. He began working on it a few months ago. I had a feeling he had lost momentum, the way he had done on many an occasion before. I valued Damian’s role, staying at home with the kids, but I wasn’t sure if I would prefer him out working and then have to leave Maddox with a child carer when he wasn’t at preschool. Deep down I knew financially it made better sense for only me to be working until next year when Maddox started school properly, otherwise anything Damian earned would go straight back into childcare costs.

  Staying at home with the kids, although he wouldn’t like to admit it, was easier for Damian than trying to decipher what exactly it was he wanted to do.

  I would often think back to when we met and how different things were. I was not long out of uni and had taken up a job working as a barmaid. Damian came in most nights with his friends, and after my seventh or eighth shift he asked me if I’d go out on a date with him. I was shocked into silence initially. His boyish good looks had caught my eye. Yet even though I’d had plenty of relationships at university, never once had I been asked if I would like to go out with someone. It was the kind of chivalry I was unaccustomed to. Up until that point, blokes had just presumed I would go out with them. He had a job as an IT technician in a high school, and not long after we met I began working in the bakery, so our days finished around five and we would both have the rest of the evening to ourselves. No playdates or after school activities, no separate meal to be cooked for kids, no clearing up all day after a pre-schooler and a tweenager. Just endless empty units to fill with activities of our choosing at the end of a working day and the weekend. We didn’t know what we had then. All that time and no responsibility.

  Damian was so full of aspiration back then. His was a bright light that burned out so slowly, I only noticed once the kids were here. Now there was no time to think about what Damian needed. I had my hands full.

  That night we had headed to the restaurant in near silence. Damian drove. A strange system we’d adopted when travelling together. I fiddled with the radio for the few short miles, only just finding a song I liked as Damian was parking up. It was one we knew together pre-kids and I joined in with the lyrics quietly as Damian switched off the engine. I swung my head to look at him.

  ‘Sorry, were you listening to that?’ he said with bewilderment.

  Damian, in our other life, would have sat and let the song play out, rested his head against the seat and looked over at me as we shared the appreciation.

  ‘Not any more,’ I mumbled to myself as I opened the door and stepped out into the cool damp night. I was savouring these last few weeks until the clocks went back and we lost the light in the evenings.

  The drawing in of the nights brought with it memories far more painful than losing a few hours of daylight. And as each day it came nearer the weight of my past would hang heavier than at any other time of year.

  Damian walked behind me by one step. From the corner of my eye I could see his face illuminated by the glow of his phone. I had started racking up the ways he had annoyed me so far. He was going to need to pull out a whole lot of charm over dinner to compensate for his ignorance.

  We perused the menu probably longer than needed. I feigned interest in the specials board even though I knew I was going for the low-fat pizza and salad option.

  ‘So,’ I said as I laid my oversized menu on the table. ‘How’s the app going?’ I had no idea what I was going to say to him when I began the sentence. Asking him about his project seemed to be the most appropriate way to start a conversation over dinner.

  ‘It’s really hard. I’ve been looking at funding options. It seems people are interested but they want a bit of investment from me.’

  ‘Well, yes, it makes sense that people would want a little bit of financial commitment from you – it shows you believe in the product.’ I adjusted the knife next to me so it was in alignment with the fork and napkin. ‘Do you believe in the product?’ I asked quietly.

  A moment’s pause and then I watched as Damian swallowed; an action normally so effortless suddenly appeared laboured.

  ‘Yes, of course. I thought of it.’

  A waiter swaggered past us and I raised my hand to attract his attention. He flicked his floppy hair to one side with one sw
ift jerk of his head.

  ‘You guys ready to order?’

  Damian began reeling off his food order complete with sides and a beer. He continued staring at his menu as I gave my order with specific instructions for a Negroni just the way I liked it. The waiter gave a thin smile and flounced off to the till.

  I looked at a painting on the wall, swirls of Mediterranean colours merged into a surreal impression of a sea scene. I could just make out a sailing boat, all twisted and contorted. I began to wonder what the artist was thinking when he painted the fury of reds and dark greens.

  ‘Frankie.’

  Damian’s voice penetrated through my thoughts.

  ‘Mmmm?’ I looked away from the painting. The waiter had arrived at Damian’s side and was placing our drinks on the table.

  ‘You still love those pink drinks,’ Damian said without a question as he took a swig of his beer straight from the bottle. My mind jumped to a story I had heard somewhere about the amount of germs around the rim of a glass bottle. That sort of information would have passed me by before.

  ‘Why don’t you use your glass?’ I motioned to the heavily frosted tumbler.

  ‘It will be too cold. Plus I like drinking from a bottle. It feels… nice.’ Damian examined his bottle as though it were the most important thing in the room.

  ‘Fine, enjoy the germs.’ I picked up my Negroni and swirled it around in the glass. ‘It’s such a rich vibrant colour, you just don’t see drinks this colour.’

  ‘So you like the drink. It makes you feel “wow”.’ Damian put up his hands in a jazz hands style and I narrowed my eyes at his mocking tone.

  I took a long drink and looked round the restaurant at anything other than him.

  Eventually we began small talk about the children, Pixie’s Egyptian project which needed to be made by next week and hadn’t been started.

  ‘She has one parent at home full time, there’s no reason why her project can’t be up there with some of the crafty mums’ award winning masterpieces,’ I said with exasperation.

  ‘Oh, so just because I’m at home with the kids means I’m Mr Bloody Maker does it?’

  ‘Well, no, Damian, I know you’re not, but you have the time to experiment with a few things, get it wrong a couple of times, look at Pinterest with her after school. I don’t want to have to start crafting a project when I get back from working a long week. This is your field.’

  ‘I didn’t realise we were on separate fields.’ Damian swigged his beer.

  ‘We are when I’m at work all day and you’re sat at home,’ I said, and I watched as Damian squinted his eyes at me.

  I couldn’t help but say it. I was rarely able to express my feelings on our setup. I usually refrained from speaking my mind. His look stopped me in my tracks and told me not to say any more. We both knew how it would end, not in a fight, but in Damian walking out of the restaurant and leaving me sat alone. And that was worse.

  ‘And so, to me.’ I raised my glass towards Damian who then lifted his beer bottle and gave my glass the lightest of clinks whilst we held eye contact for a second.

  I took a moment to take him in. My eyes had become so accustomed to seeing him every day that when I stopped and really looked at him it was like looking at a total stranger. He had dark brown hair that he always kept fairly short and he styled it into a ruffled look. I often thought it was to make him seem younger than his thirty-nine years. He was usually clean shaven with maybe a smattering of stubble from time to time and religiously wore long sleeved sweatshirts of various neutral colours with low slung blue jeans. He had never gained any weight in all the years I had known him. Occasionally I would allow myself to search his face for that carefree boyish charm I fell for once upon a time. Some might look at his overall appearance now and consider him dependable. I supposed there was something to be said for knowing where you were with someone, even if things weren’t perfect.

  I took a long drink of my Negroni, then found the drive to praise Damian too. ‘And to you, who holds the fort, does the dishes, keeps the kids alive when I’m not there.’ It didn’t matter how I worded it, it still sounded lame. I wondered if it would still sound as lame if someone was describing me staying at home and looking after the kids whilst Damian worked? I couldn’t help but feel a flutter of relief that it wasn’t me, that I wasn’t left all day to construct more elaborate LEGO buildings, wipe sticky jam hands and walk down to the school and back in the pouring rain. I loved my kids with everything I had, but I was drawn to the organisation of a working environment over the chaos of the kids.

  I was really looking forward to starting my job, but I didn’t feel I could tell Damian that.

  In the same way I hadn’t ever told him everything about that night twenty years ago.

  I had managed fifteen years with Damian and he never knew more than he needed to know. He saw I was fragile, but if he knew how much of that was a manifestation of my deep-seated regret, maybe he would see me differently. I wondered again about the toy Mini and who would have decided to remind me of it all again. Someone who was affected deeply by Kiefer’s death? I thought of the one person who loved Kiefer as much as I did and how I was responsible for tearing that relationship apart.

  Our food arrived and we ate in silence. At one point I checked in with Damian that his pizza was okay. He grunted his response back. There were never any complaints from Damian when it came to food. But then these days I rarely heard any complaints about anything. I knew that alone should worry me more.

  The bill arrived and before I looked at the total, I noticed the date looming out at me in bold print. Time was a seamless event, never stopping for anyone, and these dates came round and held me hostage every year. I was never going to escape. I was still as trapped as I was that day.

  30 October 1998

  I find it hard to write every day but I do because I know it makes sense to. Although some days it is hard to do anything except crawl into a bed and block the world out. A kind lady from a charity gave me these books at the hospital and told me to write in them every day, or whenever I felt as though my feelings were starting to control my behaviour.

  I have a few of them. All different colours. I have vowed to fill them all up.

  I saw the therapist today for an hour. She reminded me of the importance of letting it all out. It’s only been a few weeks since it happened, and I don’t know what people expect of me. You were my life. You were all I had. It was always going to be us against the world. Ever since we were little kids, people expected to see us together all the time. And we were, often enough. Your friends were my friends.

  I keep thinking back to how things were a few months ago and I can’t believe so much has changed so quickly. We didn’t have much, did we? But we made the most of what we did have. Friendships. We forged a unit. We would huddle together in a rugby scrum singing along to Oasis in a pub we were too young to be in.

  It was the beginning. A year that started out with so much hope, but then you were snatched away in a heartbeat. And now my heart beats alone.

  8

  Now

  I arrived at the Bliss offices on my first day ignoring the buzzing in my head. It wasn’t a good idea to drink the night before my first day in my new job.

  It was agreed that my working hours would be eight until four so I would have some time to spend with the kids. But on my first day Mason had insisted I come in for 9 a.m.

  I approached the receptionist, who eyed me for a second, then a flush of recognition flooded her face. Her lips were a deep red and the intensity of the colour unnerved me. I was suddenly thrust back to the final drink I had after Damian went to bed. I had felt such a warm sensation last night as the silky golden liquid slipped down my throat, yet this morning there was a violent pain raging inside my head, which felt as fragile as an eggshell that could break at any moment.

  ‘Oh hiiiiiii!’ She sang out the word ‘hi’ as though it had ten syllables and I winced and half closed one eye. ‘I�
��ve got a few bits here.’ She reached under the desk. ‘Right, for you. ID card, lunch tokens.’ She placed each item on the counter one at a time, her long manicured nails and chunky jewellery hitting the surface.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Carys.’ She smiled. ‘Mason is waiting for you,’ she added as I took the ID card and lunch tokens and put them in my handbag.

  ‘Thanks.’ I felt a sudden flutter of nerves as I walked around the curved reception desk to the corridor where Mason’s office was. His door was closed so I knocked twice, loud and firm.

  ‘Come in,’ he said immediately.

  The anticipation was building, and despite the threat of a hangover I wished more than anything that I had a drink in my hand. Before I was even through the door Mason was up from his desk, which was tucked in the corner away from the huge conference table, and was striding across the room to greet me. His easy manner eased my anxieties.

  ‘Frankie.’ He reached his hand out and I felt the warm softness of his skin on my hand as he shook it firmly. He looked at me and smiled, and I felt the pull from those piercing blue eyes. ‘How are you, Frankie?’

  I wanted to tell him I was hungover to hell, that I drank excessively from time to time and had done for twenty years and it was especially bad at this time of year when there was the threat of the memory surfacing.

  ‘I’m good.’ I laughed a silly laugh. I cleared my throat, ‘Sorry, first day nerves.’

  ‘Of course. How are the kids?’ he asked.

  ‘The kids?’ I questioned. ‘They’re fine.’ It felt strange to hear Mason, who had never met my kids, ask after them and to do so with a genuine deliverance.